Saturday, October 25, 2014

I owe my lovely hostess a huge
thank you for having me over today. My paranormal romantic comedy, Flirting with Fire, was just released by
Decadent Publishing. It features a clueless fire mage, his fed-up cat familiar,
and Madame Eve’s renowned one-night stand service. On All Hallows’ Eve, this witch
and warlock iron out the kinks of an outdated employment contract in a
spectacularly fiery fashion (and once you read the blurb, my very odd
description will make a lot more sense).

In celebration, I’m giving away a
$15 gift card. To enter, leave a comment here, and drop your details in the Rafflecopter widget (at the bottom of this post, assuming
the code works, or at my website: TaraQuan.com/FlirtingwithFire)

Flirting with Fire (A Witch’s Night Out, 1)

Apprentice witch Catalina Gato is prohibited from assuming her human form in front of
her new employer without his express permission. Since he doesn’t know he’s a
warlock, he can’t give it, leaving her in a familiar’s limbo. To make matters
worse, she’s barred from leaving his house, and her attempts to enlighten him
of his true nature results in burnt notes, charred walls, and exploding
laptops.

On All Hallows’ Eve, she gets
one night of freedom. Deciding some no-strings-attached sex might take the edge
off the intense attraction she feels for her clueless boss, she signs up for
Madame Eve’s service. When she meets her masked mystery date at the Castillo
Capital, she realizes she might have gotten much more than she bargained for.

After being gifted a one-night
stand from his annoying best friend, attorney Leo Difuoco
reluctantly ventures to the Castillo Capital to celebrate Halloween. When he
meets his oddly familiar green-eyed date in a Cat Woman costume, flames
literally ignite, sparks magically fly, and life as he knows it changes
forever.

Globetrotter, lover of languages, and romance author, Tara Quan has an addiction for crafting tales with a pinch of
spice and a smidgen of kink. Inspired by her travels, Tara enjoys tossing her
kick-ass heroines and alpha males into exotic contemporary locales, paranormal
worlds, and post-apocalyptic futures. Armed with magical powers or conventional
weapons, her characters are guaranteed a suspenseful and sensual ride, as well
as their own happily ever after. Learn more at

Soaping her too-sensitive body,
Cat closed her eyes and recalled an image of Leo from earlier that morning.
She’d wanted nothing more than to slip through the glass doors, run her palms
along those wet, chiseled abs, and trace the defined lines of chest muscle with
her fingers. After less than two minutes of voyeurism, she’d imagined levering
herself using those broad shoulders, wrapping her legs around his torso, and fusing
her mouth with his.

Why did her boss have to be
clueless and sexy? If not for the latter trait, it’d be much easier to hate his
guts. Instead, she was trapped in a weird limbo between impatient annoyance and
unbridled horniness. She switched the water to a cold blast. It didn’t help.

One cardinal rule existed in all
professions—Thou shalt not lust after the
boss. To it, she’d add—especially not
when you’re his minion, bound by blood to do his bidding, and he doesn’t see
you as a human being. But the impracticality of this attraction didn’t
change the fact this man appealed to her in the most carnal way. It was a good
thing she transformed into a cat whenever he came close, else her panties would
be damp from constant sexual fantasies.

When she slept, she dreamt of
learning the texture of his dark five o’clock shadow with her lips, of feeling
his coarse chest hair rasp over her breasts. He might be no more than two
inches taller than her, but she’d be powerless in his grasp. The man was all
muscle, from his thick neck to his toned arms. Even without the magical rules
demanding her complete obedience, he could compel her to do whatever he wanted.

This embarrassing and
unrelenting lust put an impetus on finding a way out. She’d served Nonna for a little over three years and spent the past six
months in his care, leaving an interminable eighteen months on the damn
contract. By the time it ended, she’d be a frustrated nymphomaniac.